


Operation

by elldotsee



Series: Anniversary Ficlets 2020 [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Emergency medical procedures, Hospital, John Whump, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Waiting Rooms, anxious sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elldotsee/pseuds/elldotsee
Summary: Mycroft keeps Sherlock distracted.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Anniversary Ficlets 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807645
Comments: 24
Kudos: 121
Collections: 10 Years of Sherlock





	Operation

“Water on the knee. This will require some careful maneuvering… steady now, don’t bump the border... well done. They’ll likely need constant monitoring after that. That upcoming marathon is probably out, poor bastard. I’ll collect my fee now… thank you.” 

“Oh drat. Reconnect the ankle bone to the knee bone? This one always—I’ve nearly… almost. Oh f— er, fiddlesticks. Sorry. Little ears nearby. Are you the specialist for this procedure? Yeah, you can have a go then. Show off.” 

_“Paging Doctor Rasmusson to theatre three. Doctor Rasmusson, theatre three.”_

“A Charlie Horse? Seems as though he could just take some paracetamol for that. Perhaps drink some water. Oh alright. That was an easy one. Four hundred? That’s it? Seems as though that doesn’t account for inflation… no, I still want it, of course. I believe I’ve made more than you this time.” 

_“Mr Probst, please go to Doctor Nelson’s office, thank you.”_

“Hmm… breadbasket removal. Is that really what they call it? Surely there should be a second step to this procedure, perhaps an attachment of the esophagus… ah. And… out.” 

_“Code blue, first floor.”_

“That was a buzz, I heard it! Mmm… can’t handle a broken heart, how very telling, Mycroft. I’m the specialist on this one… yes, there we go. See that? Easy as pie. Probably best to stick to government work, I don’t believe you have a future in surgery. That’s the game, then. I win. Don’t be a poor sport, you always were such a terrible loser.” 

“Mr Holmes?” Sherlock and Mycroft both looked up from the game board, but Sherlock was on his feet so quickly that his chair wobbled on two legs before righting itself. 

“Yes? Yes. That’s me. Mr Watson-Holmes, actually. I’m— he’s— I’m his husband. Is he okay? Can I see him?” Sherlock’s voice sounded high-pitched to his own ears, but he couldn’t control it any more than he could control the way his hands were suddenly shaking. Mycroft stood too, a silent sentry at his side. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be irritated that he needed his brother’s support today. 

The doctor smiled, looking tired. “He did very well. The appendix had not yet ruptured but was very inflamed and angry looking. It was good that he came in tonight and didn’t try to wait it out at home. He’ll be in recovery shortly and then you can go see him.” 

Sherlock sat back down heavily, his knees feeling wobbly from relief. John was okay. Logically, Sherlock knew that appendectomies, even emergency ones such as this had been, were routine procedures for surgeons. There hadn’t been time to get the _best_ surgeon in London, much to Mycroft’s dismay, but Mycroft had volunteered to come and sit in the waiting room with Sherlock to offer moral support (and to throw his status around, if necessary). Everything had just moved so fast, and Sherlock could now admit that he’d been _terrified_ , though he’d compartmentalised it well, bringing Rosie down to Mrs Hudson with a quick explanation before bundling a shivering John into the back of a cab and instructing the driver to rush them to the nearest A&E as quickly as possible. 

John had been fine that morning, had complained of some mild nausea, but they’d had several busy days in a row and they both assumed he’d maybe picked up a little stomach bug from Rosie. He’d fallen asleep in his chair while Sherlock had put Rosie down for a midafternoon nap, but only complained of a slightly acidic stomach ache and feeling feverish when Sherlock woke him up. He’d popped some antacids and gone to take a shower. Sherlock had gotten wrapped up in some experiments at the kitchen table and it wasn’t until Rosie woke up that he thought to check on John. He found him on the floor of the loo, sweating and shivering, hunched over. Sherlock scarcely had to take one look at him before deciding that he needed to be seen in hospital immediately. John had tried to tough it out, brush it off as ‘tolerable’, but he couldn’t even stand up straight. He’d willingly gone with Sherlock, allowed him to take out his growing anxiety by shouting at the cab driver, the triage nurse and the elderly man that was moving too slowly through the revolving door. 

Sherlock realised he hadn’t heard anything that Mycroft had said, but now he was nearly at the door, the tip of his ever-present umbrella tapping lightly on the hospital lino. 

“Mycroft.” His brother turned, his expression neutral. “Er… thanks. For the distraction. And the uh…” He waved his hand vaguely at the now-empty waiting room. “All of it. Thanks.” 

Mycroft gave a tiny nod, the corners of his mouth twitching as he turned to leave again. 

“Anytime, Sherlock. Give my best wishes for a speedy recovery to John.” 


End file.
